закрытая дверь Poem by Marcel Aouizerate

Bittersweet as it is the situation reminds me of
Russian writers piling up radioactive verse in the cellar
I am doing the same with a flow I cannot turn off
It is all happening in my head, this silent cold war
I say it started with a telegram by Nabokov
Now behind shut doors lurks an angry Commissar
Run forever! burns a pale fire for the half-life of HE
A verse Tcherenkov blue for the radioactivity of SHE
But! wait long enough, and ruin be in square letters
Cyrillic orders, flight under-cover with overgrown feathers
Face it, I graduated: a closed door is the new normal
With cossacks inside love-dreaming in colors by Chagall